Molly's Game
by GraceWinter
Summary: Molly Hooper has just found out that her ex-boyfriend is Jim Moriarty. After being challenged to 'one last game', Molly is scared but determined to solve this on her own, without anyone else's help. Can Molly come out of her shell and beat Moriarty at his own game? T for mild language and some violence.
1. Chapter 1

When she had returned home to find the front door slightly ajar and the lock broken, Molly Hooper knew something was wrong. As if things weren't bad enough already! She'd found out yesterday that her now ex-boyfriend, Jim from IT, was in fact Jim Moriarty – the smartly-dressed psychopath who was Sherlock's nemesis and quite possibly the most dangerous man in Britain. She'd deleted his number and spent the next day kicking herself for being such an idiot. _Shut up, Molly,_ she told herself firmly. _You need to see what the burglars have taken._ As she walked cautiously through the door, Toby the cat wound himself affectionately around her ankles just as he usually did. How strange – surely he would have been scared by the break-in? He mewed curiously as if to say _well, aren't you going to look?_

"You're right, Toby. Let's go." Scooping the cat up into her arms, Molly took a deep breath and walked into her bedroom, where she happened to keep all of her valuables. TV – check. Laptop – check. Jewellery – check. Piggy bank ( _Why do I even have a piggy bank?_ ) – check. Her phone was safely tucked away in her handbag. Why had someone broken into her flat, then left without taking anything? They hadn't even messed anything up. The bed was still neatly made, everything organised correctly on the shelves, the carpet still clean from when she'd vacuumed it that morning. A quick check of the rest of the flat showed the same results; everything seemed exactly as she'd left it. Wait – except for one thing.

Placing Toby carefully on the flower-patterned quilt and petting him to calm her nerves, Molly noticed something sticking out from underneath a pillow. _A piece of paper. I didn't leave that there._ After kicking off her shoes, she sat down on the bed and pulled out the mysterious piece of paper. It was folded in half and on the front was a single word: _Molly._ A sharp dagger of fear passed through Molly's heart; she knew that handwriting. With shaking hands she opened the note and began to read.

 _So, you found out who I really am. I must admit it's getting harder to fool Sherlock. Still, it was fun to get a look at your mundane little life. It must be boring being you – you're just so ORDINARY. Mousey little Molly, spending all your time in the morgue, hopelessly in love with a man who'll never notice you… I'd feel sorry for you, but I never feel sorry for anyone. I read your diary – wow, your life really is dull. I looked at what are probably your most treasured possessions – those newspaper clippings about Sherlock's crime-solving, an ID card he must have dropped somewhere. How touching. I don't mean to ramble on, but I just love to play games with people's heads – and you're so easy to play with. So that's what this is: one last game. See you soon, Molly Hooper._

 _JM_

"Well, that was… unnecessary. Wasn't it, Toby?" Molly spoke aloud, more to herself than to her cat; it helped when she was anxious or afraid. . She put on a brave face – if she cried it would make Toby scared too – but inside she was a mess of emotions and raw fear. _One last game…_ what was that supposed to mean? She didn't know a lot about Jim Moriarty, but she knew what he was capable of. He was a twisted, unpredictable killer whose games involved death and destruction. Unfortunately, he was also a genius, which made him pretty hard to outsmart. How gullible she'd been to actually believe he cared for her...

 _NO. You have to stop thinking about him. Shutupshutupshutup._

Sherlock would know what to do. Maybe she should call him? Molly reached for her mobile and then hesitated, her hand hovering above the phone. After a moment of agonising indecision, she made up her mind. For too long she'd been the quiet awkward girl lurking in the morgue, taking the evening shifts because she had no friends to go out with. For too long she'd worked diligently behind the scenes, letting everyone else take the credit. For too long she'd relied on Sherlock to solve everything. But she was more than that, she knew she was. Molly was determined to sort this out on her own, no matter what the consequences turned out to be. Instead of calling Sherlock, she reached into her bag and found the scrap of paper with her ex-boyfriend's number written on it. With a steely determination she typed out a simple message and sent it.

 _The game is on. – MH (and Toby)_

 **A/N: Sorry this chapter is so short. I'm just trying this idea out and if it gets good reviews I'll continue it. Reviews are appreciated, even if it's criticism so long as it helps me improve my writing.**


	2. Chapter 2

Jim Moriarty felt rather pleased with himself.

"I pulled it off quite well, don't you think, Sebastian? I particularly liked the 'see you soon'."

"Yes, I quite agree – that was a nice touch."

"Of course it was. Now, go and make me some tea. I need to think."

As his favourite sniper left the parlour room, Moriarty tried to brush the cat hair off the sleeve of his black Westwood suit jacket. It had been half an hour since he'd paid a visit to Molly's flat, and she'd probably be finding the note any minute now. He'd found Molly's diary hilarious – what must it be like in that funny little brain? So boring. Oh, and she was _so_ smitten over Sherlock… quiet sweet really, but pathetic at the same time. _We're very similar, him and me. He's a sociopath, I'm a psychopath. He's a consulting detective, I'm a consulting criminal. He's as incapable of love as I am._ Well, he'd let Molly keep her silly dreams – not much amused Moriarty more than the false hopes of ordinary people.

"SEBASTIAN! Where's my tea?"

"Right here." Sebastian carried a heavy tray with slight difficulty, balancing the teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl and cup and saucer.

"Good. Now off you go – read, take a walk, shoot something, I don't care. I'm planning something and I need to be on my own."

Sebastian turned and walked away without a word, leaving Moriarty to brood over his afternoon tea. He had a problem. The break-in to Molly's flat had gone to plan and he was certain that he'd messed with her head a little, and this new game would be very fun to play. However, he hadn't fully planned it, and in Moriarty's opinion planning was essential to winning – and he _never_ lost. He wouldn't kill Molly, not for a while at least – where was the fun in that? This would be a mind game. No matter how hard she tried Molly wouldn't be able to outsmart him; of course she couldn't beat him at his own game.

 _DING._

 _Oh. I've got a text._ Moriarty reached into his jacket pocket for his phone. _Is it that Adler woman again?_ He got a shock when he saw the text, and who'd sent it: _MH (and Toby)._ It took him a while to remember that Toby was that bloody cat who'd got cat hair all over his suit earlier. He hated animals, especially when they ruined his clothes; it had been a struggle resisting the urge not to dispose of Toby while he was pretending to be Jim-from-IT.

He laughed aloud. Did the stupid girl think she was cleverer than him? It would be _so_ easy to break her; she had too many weaknesses. _This game will be over in no time,_ Moriarty pondered, _but it will be entertaining for a while._ Pouring himself another cup of Earl Grey tea, he began to plan his first move. As the first move of the game, it would of course need to be memorable; that was how he operated. What would make the victim feel most afraid, what would mess with their head the most? For each person it was different. Threats, blackmail, taking away something (or someone) that they cared about, reminding them of the secrets and tragedies of their past. Blackmail wouldn't work on Molly – as far as he knew, she was an open book. He didn't know a lot about her past, and she'd never talked about her family. The only thing close to a secret that she had was her crush on Sherlock (and that was hardly a secret). This would be difficult…

"Sebastian?" No answer. "SEBASTIAN!" Still no answer. Furious, Moriarty dialled Sebastian's number.

"Sebastian! Where the hell are you?"

"Sitting in a cafe. Why, is something wrong?"

"Stop sitting around and get back here. _Now._ "

"But you said –"

"Shut up. I need you back here, or I'll have to skin someone to calm my nerves."

Hanging up the phone, he stood up and paced around the room. Impatiently he wandered around his mansion for twenty minutes, flipping through books in the library and smashing a couple of vases out of sheer boredom. Finally, Sebastian arrived.

"About time! Now, I've got a job for you."

"What is it?"

"Molly Hooper. What do you know about her?"

"Er, not a lot, actually."

"Well, do some research. I want to know every one of her fears, secrets, and weaknesses. I expect you to return to me with the information tomorrow, while I'm having afternoon tea. Understood?

"Yes. I'll see what I can do. What's the poor girl done to you, anyway?"

"Nothing: that's the beauty of it. I'm simply terrorising an innocent to brighten up my day."

"Are you sure about this? She's quite close to that detective, Sherlock Holmes. There's no telling what he might do."

"Of course I'm sure; I'm always sure. As for Sherlock Holmes, well, I have a feeling that Molly wants to play this game on her own. Now off you go – my suits won't iron themselves, you know."

"Couldn't you try ironing them, just this once?"

"Of course not! Don't be ridiculous. Now run along."

With an annoyed sigh, Sebastian headed in the direction of the laundry room. Settling down into the black leather sofa, Moriarty began to write in a notebook. This game would need to be planned right down to the smallest detail.


End file.
